Friday Fictioneers #28: that commune in Bishop’s Stortford.

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What’s the set up? Atkins said.

I don’t know said Methuselah.

But you were supposed to case the joint.

I didn’t have time, Becky’s been ill.

Who’s Becky? What happened to Tina?

Gone mate.

What, gone-gone?

Nah. She’s moved to that commune in Bishop’s Stortford.

The macrobiotic one?

Yeah. We’d best get moving. What’d you bring?

Nothing.

What about the jackhammer?

It’s still under me bed. With the other stuff.

We’re a right pair of burglars aren’t we?

Or bunglers. I think burglars work at night.

Oh.

Shall we come back tomorrow? What time do they close?

Seven I think.

Friday Fictioneers is a weekly photo-prompt flash fiction challenge, curated by the wonderful Rochelle Wishoff-Fields, and open to anybody. Full details here.

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Friday Fictioneers #27: forgotten about Kent State.

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We thought our white skin would protect us, he said, that they wouldn’t kill privileged westerners, but then they took out a couple of us in Gaza and everything changed. Some thought that America would stop all the aid, but nothing happened.

Had you forgotten about Kent State, she asked.

No.

So why are you here at the church?

I was hoping there might be something more. I don’t know if it’s the baby jesus but it seemed like a jumping off place.

Have you tried meditation?

Yes, but only with vodka. What the fuck is up with that tree?”

Friday Fictioneers is a weekly photo-prompt flash fiction challenge, curated by the wonderful Rochelle Wishoff-Fields, and open to anybody. Full details here.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Friday Fictioneers #26: a series of fatalities recently.

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When they got Emma, that was the last straw. You knew you were taking your life in your hands each time you went out, but there had been a series of fatalities recently, some of them known to me, and I also knew that the perpetrators of these murders would receive only a £25 fine and two points on their license, and that if they weren’t caught at the scene then they wouldn’t be pursued. I began with a flyposting campaign: me in a smog mask, “ALL MOTORISTS ARE LEGITIMATE TARGETS”. Then I bought a chainsaw. It was for protection.

 Friday Fictioneers is a weekly photo-prompt flash fiction challenge, curated by the wonderful Rochelle Wishoff-Fields, and open to anybody. Full details here.

Friday Fictioneers #25: where Henry Lee Lucas had murdered his mother.

ImageWineface had been geocashing for three years. Using only an old Nokia, his looks and his wits, he had made several small sums, but so far the big payout had eluded him. Now here he was, in Tecumseh Michigan, where Henry Lee Lucas had murdered his mother, where Custer’s horse Don Juan was interred, on the River Raisin, looking from phone to fire hydrant; wondering what Tina the ballerina was doing here. Tina, who he hadn’t seen since the armageddon job. Tina, who was supposed to be dead. At 102 W Chicago Blvd. Walking towards him. Crossing the street, smiling.

Friday Fictioneers is a weekly photo-prompt flash fiction challenge, curated by the wonderful Rochelle Wishoff-Fields, and open to anybody. Full details here.

Friday Fictioneers #24: now the snacks were gone.

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Bates and Henriksen had been trapped inside all week, eating up the snacks, now the snacks were gone. In the loading bay of the dome was a huge mechanical wasp, once used to entertain the kids.

          “Can you drive it?”

         “I don’t know.”

          “You drive trucks?”

          “No.”

          “Forklifts?”

           “Yes.”

           “So… ?”

           “I know how to get inside. There’s a hatch.”

Once they got moving transmission was smooth, but as they lumbered toward the woods, they began to hear chanting. Bates looked out through one of the eyes. He couldn’t see much, only woodsmoke, a few shadowy figures. The chanting stopped.

Friday Fictioneers is a weekly photo-prompt flash fiction challenge, curated by the wonderful Rochelle Wishoff-Fields, and open to anybody. Full details here.